chrysalism
by zanykingmentality
Summary: The rain pounds against the roof with the force of hail, and Katara likes to listen to Zuko's voice when he reads.


Katara is acutely aware of how loud the thunder is, how Zuko flinches next to her every time it roars. She huddles under a blanket with him and they listen to the loud thudding of freezing raindrops against the roof.

When the sky flashes blue with lightning again, Zuko presses himself closer into Katara's side. His arms are wrapped around her waist, more for his comfort than for hers, and he presses his face into the curve of her neck. She's rubbing his back and humming an old song her grandmother taught her a long time ago – it's a song that she used to sing to calm Katara down after a nightmare, so maybe it'll work for Zuko, too. His breaths are controlled, and she can tell he's trying hard to keep it that way.

"I'm sorry." His voice is muffled by her neck – she can feel his warm breath against her skin. She wants to say, _For what?_ but she knows what, she knows he feels bad about showing weakness in front of her. He thinks he has to be strong always, never show his fear to anyone.

"Don't be," she responds. It's practically a whisper, but she can feel him smile despite himself. She wishes, for a moment, that she could see his face; but if concealment will make him feel better, less afraid, then she's more than happy to give that to him.

The thunder is now a faint roar in the distance. Zuko still jumps slightly when lightning flashes, but it's not as bad. The rain doesn't seem to be letting up, though, still pounding mercilessly against the roof. The streets are slick with the water, making the street lamps' reflections gleam against the surface of the asphalt.

Katara takes his hand and presses it to her lips. His skin is warm, like it always is. Sitting next to Zuko is like sitting next to a human heater – and, strangely, Katara doesn't mind it.

His cheeks are dusted pink when she looks over at him, her lips twitching upward in a smile.

"Don't you have homework to do?" Zuko stammers. Katara presses her forehead against his chest and groans. Then she laughs.

"Yeah, you're right, I do." She draws back a little bit. "It's just Shakespeare, though."

Zuko's eyes practically light up. "Really? I didn't know you were taking a Shakespeare class."

"It's probably my worst one," she admits, reaching up at the couch behind them. She fumbles around before catching hold of one of her backpack straps and pulling it down next to her. It's filled close to bursting with textbooks and… was that Sokka's shoe? Why did she have _that_ in her backpack?

Next to her, Zuko laughs when she pulls out the shoe. "You have to work with a shoe for Shakespeare class?"

" _Shoe_ don't need to be mean about it," Katara counters quickly. Her eyes widen. _Crap, that was_ so _bad._

Despite her concerns, Zuko starts laughing almost uncontrollably. Katara stares at him in stunned silence before she can't fight the grin edging its way onto her face, and soon she's laughing along with him.

"Stop," she wheezes, "it wasn't even that funny."

"And Sokka says you don't know how to joke," Zuko comments, also gasping for breath.

"Hey!" Katara protests, "Sokka is just being mean. I can make jokes!"

"Apparently." Zuko glances at her from the corner of his eye, an amused smirk resting on his lips. "So, Shakespeare homework?"

"Oh. Right." Katara fishes around in her backpack before she pulls out a copy of _Romeo and Juliet_. "I don't know why they want us to analyze it again – we read it in, like, high school."

" _Romeo and Juliet_ is absolute literary brilliance and I can not believe your blatant disinterest in it." Zuko sniffs, his nose upturned like he's some sort of Shakespeare god. _English majors_. "What was the assignment, anyway? Just reading?"

"I… think so?" Katara pushes around the textbooks in her backpack aside in search of her planner, where she writes down all of her assignments. Finally, she pulls it out, the rings holding the sheets of paper together bent only slightly. "Yeah, that's what we're supposed to do. The first scene for Monday."

"Fun." He leans back against the couch. "Here, give it to me. I'll read it."

Katara blinks at him. "Um. No? Don't you have your own homework to do?"

He smiles cheekily at her. "Nope. Finished."

She groans.

"It's already Sunday, Katara," he says. "You need to do it sometime or other."

Her fingers absently trace the scar around his eye; his eyes flutter shut. She lets out a lengthy sigh and says, "Sure," handing him the paperback script.

Zuko leans into her touch for just a moment more, presses a kiss to her forehead, and opens his eyes. The book looks almost at home in his hands, and as he clears his throat, Katara rests her head on his shoulder and stares at the words on the page. They're all jumbled up into phrases and couplets that she doesn't think she could even begin to understand.

"Enter Sampson and Gregory of the house of Capulet, with swords and bucklers. _Gregory, on my word, we'll not carry coals…_ "

Zuko's voice is soothing, Katara thinks. The way he changes it to match his impression of a character is like listening to art, if art had a sound: it makes her chest tighten, and her emotions to swell. She looks away from the book and traces his profile with her eyes – the way his eyelashes curl naturally, the charcoal hair resting against his forehead, the movement of his lips as the words tumble past them. His amber eyes, that move as he reads.

 _"What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!"_ His voice goes deeper for the voice of Capulet, but not so much that it's unrecognizable. Katara blinks at him, and then at the words on the page.

He's about to continue, but she says, "Wait, did he just call his wife a hoe?"

She can tell he's biting back a laugh – his grin is enough to suggest so. "No," he manages, "but if that's how you want to interpret it, go for it."

They continue reading. Zuko's voice goes high into a falsetto tone – Katara has to try hard not to laugh at it. " _A crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a sword?"_

"Whoa, whoa, wait a sec. She's-" Katara fails to hold in her laugh. "She's telling him he's too old to fight?"

"Pretty much," Zuko agrees. "And that's humiliating for him because back then, all guys had was their ability to wield a sword and get girls."

"Sounds like a pretty boring existence." Katara remarks, then waves her hand for Zuko to continue.

Finally, he reads, " _I'll pay that doctrine or else die in debt._ " Zuko closes the book to find Katara listening intently against his shoulder. His voice is laced with amusement as he asks her, "So, Katara, what did you learn?"

"Sampson is a dick," she says immediately. Zuko laughs; Katara likes the sound of it, she decides, and she's glad he's starting smiling more often – not just at her, but at their friends, too.

The rain continues to patter against the ceiling. Katara glances up worriedly. "You might have to spend the night."

"I might," Zuko agrees, "but only if you're okay with it."

"Of course I'm okay with it."

The following silence is amicable to say the least. Finally, Zuko hums, "I think you would be Tybalt."

" _What_?"

"You always want to fight people," he explains.

"Then you're definitely Benvolio," Katara says, "because I want to fight you the most."

" _Please_. I'd destroy you."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Ha ha. _No way._ "

Katara stretches against the couch. The blanket has long since fallen off of her shoulders, but it's still wrapped around one of Zuko's. She stands shakily – one of her legs fell asleep. It hurts to step on, but she'll manage. "I'll make us some tea."

"Thanks." Zuko stands up and trails behind her as she makes her way into the kitchen. He leans on the counter while she sets the water to boil. "You know, a little thing from that scene: Romeo was moping in a sycamore grove, right?" Katara hums her approval. _Yeah_. "Well, _amour_ means love in French."

She pauses for a moment, staring at the mug in her hands. Then: "Oh my _god_. And I thought my brother made awful jokes."

"They're not awful, they're _brilliant_." Zuko's voice is indignant. Katara stares out the rain-spattered window, down to the parking lot, four floors below them. A car pulls out of its parking space.

"Sure," she responds. "You could say that, too."

Minutes later, she sets a steaming mug down in front of Zuko. He wraps his hands around it and takes a sip almost immediately – Katara cringes, but she knows it won't burn him. Probably. She glances out the window again and takes note of the still overcast sky; her eyes slide over to the microwave, which displays the time: 7:55. In army time, that would be 19:55. Katara wonders why she cares about army time.

She takes a sip from her own mug and coughs, but she manages to force most of it down. Either her tea is really bad, or Zuko's uncle, Iroh, makes it really good. Most likely, both are true.

 _Oh, well_ , she thinks, leaning over the counter and kissing Zuko's cheek. It might not last forever, but it's what she's got right now. She can feel her heart beating in her chest, the slowing rain against the roof, and for the first time, she thinks it wouldn't be so bad if this _could_ last forever.

"Katara," Zuko says. "We should go outside."

"Why?"

"Trust me."

They race down the stairs and out into the rain, which spatters against their backs, their clothes, their hair. It trickles down their faces and drips off of their chins.

"Okay," Katara says, "now what?"

Zuko looks her in the eyes and says, "I want to kiss you in the rain. Okay?"

"You're a sap," she responds, grabbing him by the front of his shirt. "Okay."

Yes, if this lasted forever, Katara certainly wouldn't be complaining.


End file.
